A Matter of Time
by Dementis Scriptor
Summary: “It’s déjà vu all over again.” – Yogi Berra
1. Prologue: Shattered Dreams

A Matter of Time

by Dementis Scriptor

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Dealing with loss is never easy, especially when half the world sees you as a savior, half as a Dark Lord in the making, and half as the man who took away their chance at world domination. Yes, that made three halves. Go figure.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, least of all Harry Potter. If I did, I'd probably be on vacation in Hawaii right now, rather than in my room writing a disclaimer about not owning anything…

* * *

**Prologue**

He should have known.

He could have known.

He would have known.

"…and we commit their bodies to the ground…"

He could have done something.

He would have done something.

He should have done something.

"…earth to earth…"

He would have saved them.

He should have saved them.

He could have saved them.

"…ashes to ashes…"

He should have been there.

He would have been there.

He could have been there.

"…dust to dust…"

He would have…

He could have…

He should have…

He would have…

He could have…

He should have…

He would have…He could have…He should have…

He would have he could have he should have

hewouldhaveheshouldhavehecouldhavehewouldhaveheshouldhavehecouldhave

wouldhaveshouldhavecouldhavewouldhavecouldhaveshouldhave

wouldveshouldvecouldvewouldvecouldveshouldve

wouldcouldshouldwouldcouldshouldwouldcouldshouldwouldcouldshould

"Amen."

A scream, almost a howl tore through the air, filled with raw grief and powered by years of suppressed anger. A violent crack of thunder seemed to harmonize, and lightning flashed across the otherwise clear sky.

The world trembled.

* * *

A/N: This is the prologue to a story that has been running around my head for a while now. It is actually part 3 of a trilogy, the first two tentatively titled _A Matter of Trust_ and _A Matter of Truth._ I have the first few chapters written for each, and rough drafts for all the endings, but I don't know how long the stories themselves will be (yet). I am a college student, and as such my free time is virtually non-existent, so I don't know how long it will be between chapters. For this I apologize. 

This will be a time travel story. Yes, I know there are a million and one out there already, but I hope to take this in a new direction. If you don't like it, don't read it. It's as simple as that.

Chapter One is set three months later. The events leading up to and immediately following the prologue will be covered in more detail at the end of _A Matter of Truth_.


	2. Chapter One: Future Imperfect

A Matter of Time

by Dementis Scriptor

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Dealing with loss is never easy, especially when half the world sees you as a savior, half as a Dark Lord in the making, and half as the man who took away their chance at world domination. Yes, that made three halves. Go figure.

Disclaimer: I still own nothing. Oh yeah, I'm not making any money, either. Sad, isn't it?

* * *

Chapter One: **Future Imperfect**

_"We would like to live as we once lived, but history will not permit it." -John F. Kennedy_

It all seemed so familiar.

Small, silver instruments whirred and sputtered on a table, some emitting puffs of smoke or flashes of light at irregular intervals. A gleaming, jewel-encrusted sword hung in a glass case on the wall. Hundreds of books, some of which couldn't be found anywhere else in the world, sat neatly on carved wooden shelves. A glittering perch stood to one side, occupied by a flaming crimson bird the size of a swan. And behind a claw-footed desk, polished to a point that could only be attained by an overzealous house-elf, sat an old man with piercing blue eyes, a crooked nose, and snow white hair long enough to join his equally white beard as it was tucked into his belt.

It all seemed so familiar, but he had learned the hard way that things were very rarely what they seemed.

It had been three months since the final defeat of the Dark Lord, Voldemort, and in that time he had rarely been seen in public. Those few times he had ventured out, he had done so only after extensive changes in his appearance. It could be (and had been) said that he was anti-social. He agreed that he probably was. Having the world look on as you lost control at your best friends' funeral would do that to a person.

Most of the world saw Harry Potter as a sort of fallen hero. He _had_ killed the dark lord, and almost single-handedly established the peace in which they now lived; on the other hand, he refused to be honored, refused to participate in any of the celebrations that followed Voldemort's defeat, and generally served as a reminder of a war the world would rather forget.

Whatever the world felt about him, however, Harry was sure it couldn't compare to how he felt about the world. Never had he imagined a society that could grow so complacent so quickly. Not a week after Voldemort had fallen, the _Daily Prophet _had run an article in which Centaurs and Werewolves, both of whom had been considered valuable allies just a week before, were publicly ridiculed. In just under three days, they had gone from being heroes back to being "filthy disgusting half-breeds", as the article so eloquently described them.

Harry decided that it was probably a side effect of the sincere wish to forget that the past few years ever happened. While Harry couldn't exactly blame them for wanting to forget, he didn't really think doing so would be for the best. It reminded him of a muggle saying he had once heard: "Those who do not remember the past are doomed to repeat it." He had seen the horrors of war first hand, and as much as he might like to forget, he was not willing to allow the lessons learned to go unheeded. Time after time Dark Wizards rose, and time after time they were forgotten as soon as possible. This, he felt, was one of the Wizarding World's greatest failings. Instead of learning from the past, they were content to ignore it.

This was demonstrated nowhere more prominently than in the case of one Professor Binns. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, widely acknowledged as the best institution for magical education in the world, employed a History of Magic teacher who had not varied his curriculum in over eighty years. The average O.W.L. scores for Professor Binns' students was a D (Dreadful), and dangerously close to dropping to a T (Terrible). In fact, only a single O (Outstanding) and three E (Exceeds Expectations)'s had been recorded in the last fifty years. In any other subject, this would have been completely unacceptable. The fact that it was largely ignored just demonstrated how little the Wizarding World cared about past events.

But while the rest of the world might be happy to ignore history, Harry was simply not willing to let it all just fade away. This fundamental difference prompted his near total isolation from the world. He refused to become part of a society that seemed to live by the words "Ignorance is Bliss".

It was this, more than anything that brought Harry to the office of a man he had not seen since the funeral, two days before the fall of Voldemort. He supposed it shouldn't have come as a shock when the fiery messenger appeared in his home this morning, bearing a letter from the one man who could probably understand his current feelings towards the world: Albus Dumbledore, the now 158 year old Headmaster of Hogwarts.

He had never expected that that simple letter would lead him to arrive at Hogwarts less than an hour later. Exactly why he was here, Harry still wasn't sure, but according to the letter Dumbledore had a proposition for him. This was nothing new, as in the last few months he had received no less than three dozen offers from various institutions around the world, mostly to come and lecture, but some had even asked him to teach classes on a permanent basis. What really caught his attention was that Dumbledore didn't seem to want to employ him. Instead, he had hinted at something that sounded very much like a vacation. His exact words were something along the lines of _"An opportunity to leave behind your reputation and focus your attention on things slightly less important than the fate of the world."_

Leave behind his reputation, huh? He figured that either Dumbledore wanted him to go work with muggles for some reason, or he would be doing something in disguise. Neither was particularly appealing to him, but both sounded better than the life he'd been living these past months.

So that was how Harry found himself standing in front of the familiar hardwood desk, secure in the knowledge that he had absolutely no obligation to accept any proposal the old man might make. A few months ago this thought might have brought a grin to his face, but today he barely even acknowledged it.

"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore spoke, "I didn't expect you so soon." Despite the jovial tone he used, Harry could hear an underlying weariness that betrayed the old man's exhaustion. It was yet another reminder of how much things had changed, despite all the attempts to pretend otherwise. Harry raised an eyebrow in response, silently daring Dumbledore to try and offer him a lemon drop.

Dumbledore, though old, was far from stupid, and wisely kept his lemon drops to himself.

"I would assume," the Headmaster spoke after a moment's silence, "that you are here in regard to the missive I sent you earlier." It wasn't really a question, and it obviously didn't require an answer, so Harry didn't provide one. He let a slight look of annoyance show on his face, hoping it would prompt Dumbledore to explain the reason for their meeting. It did.

"Very well, I'll get straight to the point. What I'm about to say may come as a shock to you." Harry (stupidly, he later reflected) doubted it. Dumbledore sighed, and continued. "Nearly three decades ago, shortly after I became headmaster, a young man showed up at the castle gates seeking employment. He had little background in teaching, or anything else for that matter, however his skill in certain subjects could not be denied. After careful consideration, he received the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor on a probationary basis. His name was Evan Esare, and he taught here successfully for more than ten years."

Harry blinked.

"That's nice," said Harry slowly. "But what does this have to do with me. Or anything, for that matter?" he asked, failing to see any relevance at all.

"Everything, Harry. This has to do with _everything._" Here Dumbledore paused, seemingly to organize his thoughts. After a moment he continued.

"After his career as a professor, Evan vanished entirely. I sought him out many times over the years, for many reasons, not the least of which being requests for his return. Since his departure, no one who has taken up his position has lasted for more than a year, and constantly searching for replacements gets quite tiring after a while. Why, I remember one year when I had to…"

Harry cleared his throat, a little louder than necessary, in the hopes of setting Dumbledore back on track.

"…but of course, this isn't the time for that. Anyway, I never found any trace of him, anywhere. It was as though he'd never even existed." Here, Dumbledore drew a deep breath before continuing. "As it turns out, that statement was almost correct. You see, Harry, it wasn't that he never existed; it was that he did not exist _yet._"

Dumbledore paused, allowing Harry the time to blink somewhat dumbly at that statement, and then continued.

"Two days ago, I was in Diagon Alley meeting with Mr. Ollivander when I caught sight of a young man who looked remarkably like Evan Esare had when I first met him."

A flash of intuition hit Harry suddenly, and pieces began to fall into place. Harry got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, though he remained outwardly calm.

"He apparated away before I could talk to him, but not before Mr. Ollivander got a look at his wand. As I'm sure you know, Mr. Ollivander remembers every wand he has ever sold. He was able to recognize the wand and identify its owner." The twinkle was back in Dumbledore's eyes, and though Harry was sure he knew what the old man was going to say, he was still completely unprepared for it.

"Holly and Phoenix feather, eleven inches," said Dumbledore, the twinkling in his eyes brightening to a point not seen since the Weasley twins had grown beards to match his own. "It is good to see you again…Professor Esare."

* * *

Two hours, and half a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky later, Harry was engaged in a rather heated debate with the newly dubbed "Mentally Deficient Three Time Quinquagenarian Whose Insanity Is Matched Only By His Senility".

"Let us assume, just for a moment, that you're right, and I'm supposed to teach classes thirty years ago," he began, intent on making the old man see reason. "How, exactly, do you plan on getting me there?"

"I don't," said Dumbledore, looking far more amused than was to Harry's liking. "You will get yourself there."

Harry nearly laughed in disbelief, but settled for raising his eyebrows incredulously.

"And just how am I to do that? You know as well as I do that there is no spell capable of transporting a person back that far."

He was less than reassured when that damnable twinkle brightened again. Dumbledore seemed to purposely wait a few seconds to increase the impact of his answer.

_"Extorqueo Tempus."_

As effectively as a silencing charm, those two words brought all sound in the room to a halt. For a moment, Harry just stared at the Headmaster, at a loss for words.

"I see you have heard of it," said Dumbledore.

"You can't be serious," Harry spoke in a hoarse whisper, having visibly paled.

"On the contrary, I am quite serious," Dumbledore replied.

Harry quickly downed another shot of Firewhisky.

"Do you know what that spell does?" It was a stupid question, but it was the only thing he could think to ask.

"_Extorqueo Tempus_, more commonly known as the Time Twister spell," said Dumbledore, clearly demonstrating that he had read the entry in a book no more than a few hours ago. "It forcibly removes the caster from his or her original time, and essentially 'sets them adrift' on the oceans of eternity. Theoretically, they will 'run aground' in another time. However, this has never been proven, since no one to cast the spell has ever been seen or heard from again."

"And you expect me to cast this spell?" Harry asked, not quite believing it. "Are you mad?! You said it yourself; the spell basically cuts you loose. There's no way to know where or when I would end up. For that matter, we don't know for sure that I'd end up anywhere!" He decided, as he was pouring yet another shot of Ogden's, that he must be having a very strange dream. Even _Dumbledore_ couldn't come up with something like this. Could he?

He could.

"Ah, but that's the beauty of it. We _do_ know," said Dumbledore happily. "You will end up here, at Hogwarts, in the year 1970. We know this because it has already happened, and thus will happen again."

Harry closed his eyes for a long moment, sorely tempted to start muttering to himself, but resisting the urge. He was already displaying far more emotion than he was comfortable with. There were just so many problems with this plan…he didn't even know where to begin.

"Ignoring, for the moment, the fact that my getting there at all is far from certain, wouldn't I risk changing the past?" That was as good a place as any.

Unfortunately, the old man was prepared for the question.

"It has already happened, Harry," the headmaster explained. "You must be there, because you already have been there. The only way you would change the past is by _not_ going."

Briefly, Harry contemplated putting his head through the nearest wall. This was immediately followed by him contemplating putting _Dumbledore's_ head through the nearest wall. He decided against doing either, however. It would take the house-elves ages to clean up.

"Are you familiar with something called the Grandfather Paradox?" he asked instead.

Dumbledore frowned, deep in thought. "I believe," he began slowly, "that it is a muggle theory, correct?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. It goes something like this: Suppose you traveled back in time and killed your grandfather. He never met your grandmother, so they never had your father. Since your father never existed, he never met your mother, and they never had you."

Dumbledore looked interested. "Yes, that could be a problem."

"More than you know," Harry replied, pouring more Firewhisky. "Because you never existed, you never traveled back in time, and so you never killed your grandfather. He lived, he met your grandmother, they had your father, your father met your mother, they had you, and you grew up to travel back in time and kill your grandfather." He took a sip of the amber liquid. "Do you see the paradox?"

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, it really is quite intriguing. But I fail to see how it is relevant."

"You fail to see…of course it's relevant!" said Harry, feeling the closest thing to anger he could without accidentally blowing something up. "We're talking about altering the past!"

"No, we're not," said Dumbledore. "We're talking about fulfilling it. You have already been there. Whatever you will do, you have already done. You have only to do it again."

Harry hated to admit it, but the old man had a point. Still, he wasn't willing to give in just yet. The days when Dumbledore could control his life were long over. He ignored the fact that his reaction most closely resembled a child crossing his arms and loudly declaring "You can't tell me what to do!"

"Do you have any idea just how many things can go wrong with this half-baked scheme of yours?" he asked, almost crossing his arms but consciously resisting the urge.

"Of course. But as I said, we already know that it will work," said Dumbledore. "You were here thirty years ago. That will not change. If it did, we would not be having this conversation. In addition to that, if I understand the theory correctly, if you do not go back, after having already gone back, we will have created a paradox of our own."

Damn the old man and his logic.

After a brief mental debate with himself, Harry decided to concede the point and move on to the next in a long line of problems. "Okay. All that means it that at some point I will go back to 1970. As you said, the fact that we are having this conversation proves that, no matter what I decide now, at some point I will go back. How do you know I went back from here?" Harry blinked. "I mean, from now. Why not next year? Or in five years? What makes you so sure it's not the result of some accident I'll have some time next year?"

Dumbledore blinked, slowly. Then he gave a small chuckle and shook his head slightly. "You've changed, Harry," he said softly. "You're no longer the boy you once were, always willing to take on something new and exciting…" he trailed off.

"You are quite correct in your assessment," Dumbledore said after an awkward silence, neatly bringing the conversation back on track. "We know only that it will happen. When it will happen is another matter entirely. But whenever it does happen, it will be when it has happened before. If not, then it would not happen at all."

Now, Harry considered himself to be a person of above average intelligence. When he really put his mind to something, he was capable of working through problems that would leave most people standing around scratching their heads. This, combined with his aversion towards showing emotion or weakness of any kind, was the only thing that kept him from blinking stupidly and responding to the old man's statement with a heartfelt "Huh?" As it was, he could feel a headache coming on fast. He downed the rest of the Firewhisky in his glass in an attempt to ward it off.

"Right…" said Harry. "But that doesn't tell me anything useful."

"Ah, but it does," said Dumbledore happily. "It tells us that we are done here."

Harry blinked at the apparent non-sequitur. "I'm sorry?"

Dumbledore looked surprised. "For what?" he asked.

Harry very nearly rolled his eyes. He was sure that that joke was older than the man who had just uttered it.

"I mean, how are we done here?" he clarified, never doubting that it was unnecessary.

"Ah. Well, I've told you everything I can," said Dumbledore. "The rest is up to you."

For a moment, Harry had a strong desire to argue some more. Then, the still sober part of his mind realized that it would be pointless. With a heavy sigh, he nodded at the headmaster. He looked down at the empty shot glass in his hand, and with a slight flick of his wrist it was sparkling clean again. Carelessly, he tossed it over his shoulder. It arced high in the air, and vanished with a pop about six inches from the ground.

* * *

The sun was setting over the lake, a beautiful array of reds and pinks overtaking the normal blue of the sky. The meeting with Dumbledore had ended about an hour ago, and after saying their goodbyes Harry had come straight to his favorite spot on the far side of the lake. Hardly anyone knew about it, and those who did knew enough to leave him alone. It was where he had always come to think when he wanted to be alone, and now it was serving that purpose once again.

The bottle from Dumbledore's office was open beside him, less than an inch of liquid remaining in the bottom. He took a sip directly from the bottle, and then sighed heavily.

There wasn't really much to think about. He knew that Dumbledore was absolutely right. If he had been to the past, then he would be again, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. At least, not without causing a nasty temporal paradox. No, he had to go. Damn it all, but he had to go. His earlier thoughts about not having any obligations to do anything Dumbledore proposed now came back to haunt him.

Nothing was ever easy for him. Here he was, barely eighteen years old, and he had already defeated a Dark Lord. Actually, Voldemort was only the latest of a long list of dangers he had faced, right after Dudley, a Basilisk, a swarm of Dementors, a Dragon, and Umbridge, the Evil Toad-Woman. There were others, of course, but they were the ones that stood out the most.

No, it was never easy. But maybe this wouldn't be too bad. Nobody would know who he was in 1970, and that was a drastic improvement right there. He'd have to be in disguise, and get used to a new name, but that was doable. And, possibly the strangest part of the whole thing, he would get to see his parents grow up. Dumbledore probably didn't think he'd realize the significance of that time period, but he did. It would be an interesting experience, to say the least.

He drained the rest of the Firewhisky in one gulp. With a sigh, he put one hand on either end of the bottle and pressed them together. The bottle offered no resistance as his hands met, and when he moved them apart a moment later, no sign of the bottle remained.

Yes, he would go. Not that he had much choice. He would go, and he would make the best of it. But one thing was for sure.

He was going to need more Firewhisky.

* * *

A/N: Well, that's chapter one. It's not exactly the way I wanted it, but hopefully it gets the job done. If all the talk of time travel confuses you, don't worry about it. It's not worth the migraine. It makes sense in my head, but that doesn't mean it will in anyone else's. 

I don't have a beta, so any errors are solely my fault. If anything is wrong or doesn't make sense, let me know and I'll try to fix it. Most of this chapter was written when I was half asleep (not that I'm ever completely awake) so go easy on me.

Thank You to my first three reviewers: **Lucy Grey**,** Lil Miss Potter**,and **scotgirl**. I only wish my COMP 100 teacher was more like you.


	3. Chapter Two: Adrift

A Matter of Time

by Dementis Scriptor

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Dealing with loss is never easy, especially when half the world sees you as a savior, half as a Dark Lord in the making, and half as the man who took away their chance at world domination. Yes, that made three halves. Go figure.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I'm not making any money, either. Sad, isn't it?

* * *

Chapter Two: **Adrift**

_"Time keeps everything from happening at once. Space keeps everything from happening to you." –Unknown_

It was almost time.

His belongings were packed neatly in his old school trunk, which had been stripped of anything identifying it as belonging to Harry Potter. It sat on his kitchen table, the lid propped open while he added a few final items to it.

Hedwig was out for one last hunt before their trip, despite Harry's assurances that there would be plenty of mice where they were going. The stubborn owl had flat-out refused to consider staying behind, even knowing that, as far as anyone else was concerned, he would be gone for mere moments. At least, that's what he hoped would happen. The truth was that nobody had ever successfully done what he was going to do, so he had no idea how it would work out.

All his affairs had been taken care of, just in case he wasn't able to return. He tried not to think along those lines, but in all actuality the chances of him making it back were much slimmer than he would have liked. While he knew that he would make it to 1970 in one piece, his return to the present (or future, as it would be from the past) was far from guaranteed. The way he saw it, he had two options. One, he could cast the _Extorqueo Tempus_ spell again, and hope for the best. He wasn't too fond of this option, because there were literally an infinite number of times he could land in, and only a very small number of them would do him any good. His hitting one of those at random was a virtual impossibility.

His other option was to stay in the past, and live out the years until his departure under the guise of Evan Esare. He didn't really think that this would happen, though. According to Dumbledore, all traces of Evan Esare had vanished around twenty years ago. To Harry, this was a good indication that he would either find a third option, or he would risk the Time Twister spell again.

Whatever happened, though, Harry was very aware of the fact that it had already happened. When the time came, he would do what he had already done. On some level, Harry found the thought comforting. It meant that he didn't have to worry about changing the timeline, since any changes he would make had already been made, and the world he knew was the result of those changes. On the other hand, he found the idea of not having free will a bit disconcerting. Not that his actions would actually be restricted in any way…it was just that all his decisions had already been made. Then again, _he_ had been the one to make them…or he would be…

He really was putting way too much thought into this.

With a snap, he shut the lid of his trunk. A quick glance at his watch told him that he was slightly ahead of schedule – though, truth be told, his schedule was completely arbitrary. Not that it really mattered, since he could conceivably leave at any time and it would still be the right time.

He exited the kitchen into the main hallway. As he did so, his trunk sprouted four furry legs and hopped off the table, sneaking through the door a split second before it shut. In a few quick strides the trunk made its way down to the opposite end of the hall, where it promptly laid down by the front door and went to sleep.

Harry followed at a more leisurely pace, but rather than go to the front door, he turned to head up the main staircase. Once on the second floor, he moved into the master bedroom and looked around one last time, making sure he had packed everything he needed. If worst came to worst, he knew he would be able to acquire anything he left behind, but rather than go through all the hassle of buying (or conjuring) replacements, he preferred to just bring those he already had.

Not finding anything on that floor, Harry continued up to the next one, where he searched his study for misplaced items. When he exited a few minutes later, he had a small case in his pocket containing a spare pair of glasses.

A blur of white momentarily obscured his vision as he made his way back downstairs, and with a soft rustle of feathers Hedwig landed gracefully on his shoulder. Harry looked at her curiously, noting the absence of a dead mouse in her beak with some concern. It was a rare thing that she came back from a hunt empty handed (not that she had hands), and she would normally spend several hours after such an occurrence sulking in a tree outside. The last thing he needed was a self-pitying owl feeling sorry for herself the entire trip. She didn't seem upset this time, however. If anything, she looked rather smug.

The reason for this was made clear when he reemerged on the first floor. How she had managed it, he was sure he didn't want to know. If he hadn't been so keen to keep his ears in one piece, he might have even laughed at his eccentric owl's latest feat. Instead, he settled for an amused shake of his head.

"Only you, Hedwig…" he said, his lips twitching slightly at the edges.

Neatly lined up on top of his snoozing trunk, and obviously waiting to be packed for the trip, were at least a dozen dead mice.

"Only you…"

* * *

The air was warm as he made his way to the edge of his property. There was a small clearing a short walk from his home, and it was from there that he would be departing. In all probability, he could have left directly from the house, but he knew so little about this particular spell that he didn't want to risk interference from the wards. 

He entered the clearing a few minutes later, followed by his trunk (which pranced in ahead of him, turned a full 720° and laid down) and his owl (who again perched on his shoulder, watching the trunk closely for any sign that it would try to eat her mice). Drawing his wand casually, Harry leaned over the top of his trunk and carefully traced a small runic symbol in shimmering silver flames. Straightening, he turned to Hedwig and drew an even more complex rune on her back. She gave an annoyed hoot in response, but seemed more resigned than anything as he ran his wand over her feathers.

When he finished with Hedwig, he moved the tip of his wand to his left forearm, just below the wrist. There he traced two runes, identical to the two placed on his avian companion and his canine luggage. He then drew a third rune, this one much larger than the other two – so large, in fact, that the two smaller symbols were completely enveloped by it. When he was finished, all three runes had been connected through a complex series of lines and curves. Had anyone seen it now, they would have mistaken it for a single, very intricate design.

These symbols, all written in the same silver flames, were part of a complex binding ritual meant to ensure that both his owl and his belongings made the trip with him. Theoretically, the bond forged would be so powerful that he could drop dead in that instant, and when he reached whatever afterlife awaited him, his owl and his trunk would still be with him. He hoped never to test that particular theory.

He completed the spell with a small circular motion of his wand, and all the runes flared brightly, obscuring his vision. When the light faded, the runes had vanished.

"Okay, Hedwig. There's no turning back now," he said. Hedwig gave an exacerbated hoot that he interpreted as "Just get on with it already."

Harry nodded, and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly in an attempt to clear his mind of unnecessary thoughts. Opening his eyes, he gave his surroundings one last look. It would be the last time he saw this place for quite some time.

His hand began to glow around his wand as his magic prepared for the spell. He had no idea how much power the spell would require, so his magic responded by providing far more than would probably be used. This had something to do with the fact that it was _his_ magic, and as such it generally followed the motto of "Better safe than sorry." Most wizards subconsciously trained their magic to respond in certain ways, but Harry was sure he was the only one whose magic was conditioned to deal with Murphy's Law on a regular basis.

_"Extorqueo Tempus!"_ he spoke clearly, his voice seeming to deepen just as he finished the incantation. It seemed that his magic had the right idea once again, Harry mused, as a wave of power rushed from his wand. It was so intense that the leaves on a nearby tree were blown right off in its wake.

At first, he thought the spell hadn't worked. Everything was exactly the same as it had been before he cast the spell.

It took him a second to realize the significance of that fact. Everything was exactly as it had been before…right down to the leaves which had just been blown from the trees. Instead of falling to the ground, they appeared to be hanging in midair, frozen before they had moved more than a few inches. For a long moment everything was completely still. Then the world around him rippled, as though the fabric of reality had become fluid and could no longer hold its shape. His surroundings blurred around him, colors swirled and blended together, and soon the entire universe had become a monotonous grey void.

He barely had time to register the lack of defining characteristics when the void lurched violently, sending him careening off into the nothingness. A feeling of vertigo overtook him, and suddenly –

He was everywhere.

* * *

Time was a funny thing. 

You always had it when you didn't need it, and you always needed it when you didn't have it. It seemed to slow down when you were waiting for something; it seemed to speed up when you were dreading something. When we are young, we dream of the times that are to come; when we are old, we yearn for the times that will never come again. Our perception of time will never completely match up with anyone else's, even though, for all intents and purposes, everyone experiences the passage of time the same way.

For the most part, time is a constant.

For Harry Potter, time had just become a whole lot more interesting than that.

When the book had said "_adrift on the oceans of eternity"_, he hadn't expected it to be quite so…literal. Not in the sense that it was an ocean, per se, but more the fact that he was most certainly adrift. Unseen currents swirled around him, more intense than anything he'd ever felt before. He imagined that the sensation was similar to what the sparrow felt flying into the hurricane.

Images flashes across his field of vision, too quickly to make out in any detail. They appeared to be little more than obscure flashes of color, changing too rapidly for him to get a clear look. Sounds bombarded his eardrums, fragmented and disjointed, interspersed with a silence so complete that you would almost think that no sound had ever existed. All his senses were in overdrive, trying to decipher a staggering amount of input the likes of which they were never designed to handle.

Every now and then, a scene would appear for just a split-second longer than the others, and it was all he needed to catch a glimpse of the world beyond. At one point he saw a planet wreathed in flames, the skies completely blackened by smoke. Another showed a thriving city he had never seen before, with buildings reaching high into the sky. And once, he even thought he saw a world inhabited entirely by white lab mice, but it was gone before he could even try to figure that one out.

His head began to pound beneath his temples, a predictable result of the sensory overload. A dull ringing filled his ears, growing in intensity with each throb of his head. The images were coming even faster, and though he knew he shouldn't try to see more, it was almost like watching a car crash. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't look away.

The currents that surrounded him were becoming more intense, if that were possible. He was drowning in this ocean that seemed to be made of everything and nothing all at once. Almost all sound had now been completely blocked out by the ringing in his ears, and a bright light was obscuring his vision. His head was spinning, and he was sure the headache would split it wide open at any moment.

It was too much. Too many sights, too many sounds…too much of everything. He couldn't make sense of it all…he didn't want to make sense of it all…

Then everything stopped. It was as though all his senses, so active just a moment before, had suddenly gone dead. There was just…nothing.

He didn't know how long he sat there. It could have been a second or an eternity, or possibly both at the same time. All he knew was that his headache had died down to a manageable level by the time something happened. And when it did, he was very thankful for this fact.

A point of light formed below him, so faint that he didn't even see it at first. Slowly, it began to move towards him, gaining in size and intensity the closer it got. It took Harry a minute to realize that the light wasn't actually moving; instead, it was he who was falling towards it. And he was picking up speed on the way down. His heart began to pound as the light became just large enough that he could make out an image within, and with a start he realized that his trip was almost over, in more ways than one. He was moving much too fast for any impact to be safe, and while he wasn't able to make out any specifics, he was fairly sure there wasn't anything there to break his fall. Then all of these things were taken out of his hands, as several things happened at once.

One, he fell right into the…pocket of reality below him. Two, he failed to slow down, and as a result crashed face-first into the landscape below. And three, with the sudden shift from an ethereal void to what seemed to at least be a corporeal plane of existence, he completely overlooked the fact that it looked nothing like 1970.

He came to his senses with a groan, and the first thing he noticed was that it was very cold. This was made abundantly clear by the deep layer of snow that had kept him from becoming nothing more than a splatter of red all over the ground. As he slowly rolled over and sat up, the cold was further evidenced by the fact that he appeared to have landed on a glacier.

The second thing he noticed caused him to forget the climate change entirely. It was a very large, very angry-looking troll-like creature, and it was charging straight at him, snarling and spitting, teeth bared and club raised high above its head.

* * *

A/N: Okay, here we go. The chapter two rewrite I promised you all a few weeks ago. It took longer than I expected, but here it is. There were no major plot changes, but I recommend reading it again anyway. I suppose I am a little bit OC (that's obsessive-compulsive, not original character), but I really _couldn't_ continue the story until I was happy with this chapter. I am now happy with this chapter, and since I already have chapter three well on its way to completion, the next update shouldn't take more than a few weeks. 

Thanks to **Kinky Usagi**, **Lucy Grey**, **scotgirl**, **Larna Mandrea**, and **Beth5572** for reviewing chapter one.

-D.S.


	4. Chapter Three: Distant Shore

A Matter of Time

by Dementis Scriptor

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Dealing with life is never easy, especially when half the world sees you as a savior, half as a Dark Lord in the making, and half as the man who took away their chance at world domination. Yes, that made three halves. Go figure.

Disclaimer: I do not bleeping own Harry Potter. I am not making any bleeping money. Consider yourself bleeping disclaimed. Bleep.

A/N: I posted the chapter two rewrite last week. There are no major changes, but I'd recommend re-reading it anyway. I like the new version a lot better, and I hope you all do as well.

* * *

Chapter Three: **Distant Shore**

_"If a man knows not what harbor he seeks, any wind is the right wind." – Seneca_

"Bloody troll," Harry muttered. Truth be told, this thought was quite a bit more literal than Harry would have imagined, but he had no way of knowing that.

He still wasn't entirely sure that it had, in fact, been a troll, but it was close enough. It was big, it was stupid, it carried a club, and it smelled like it had just bathed in Zonko's entire supply of dungbombs. That, in Harry's opinion, made it a troll; albeit a larger version than the ones he was used to dealing with. At nearly twenty feet tall, it was quite the intimidating creature. On top of that was the fact that its club was made of bone, rather than wood, indicating that it had been the alpha male of the region. It seemed that, in true troll fashion (and almost eerily reminiscent of Dudley's old gang), the largest and stupidest of the lot invariably became the leader. Leader or not, however, the troll in question made a mistake it would regret for the rest of its (admittedly short) life: It decided to attack Harry Potter.

In all fairness, the creature had no way of knowing that doing so was normally regarded as a very bad idea. It was from a time when the name Harry Potter held about as much meaning as the term anarcho-syndicalism…that is to say, none at all. So it came as a bit of a shock to the troll when Harry walked away unscathed, leaving it with the nagging feeling that it had just been humiliated rather spectacularly. The beast was understandably confused by the outcome. It was in part due to this confusion that the following events came to pass.

Shortly after Harry left, the troll spotted a passing polar bear and decided to soothe its wounded pride by making a meal out of it. It overlooked several key facts that could have preserved its life for the time being.

One: polar bears do not take well to being attacked. Normally this wouldn't be a problem for a troll, being much larger than any bear. Unfortunately, the troll forgot that

Two: it was currently ill equipped to do much damage to anything larger than a small rodent. This was because of the fact that

Three: after its encounter with Harry, the troll resembled nothing quite so much as an oddly shaped garden gnome, carrying a feather duster and smelling strongly of herbal body wash.

The polar bear left the encounter slightly less hungry than before, and a few days later the trolls began the traditional practice of whacking each other with their clubs in order to determine who would become the new leader.

Harry, of course, knew none of this. Even before the feathers from the troll's duster began to fly, he was hundreds of miles away, looking for some indication of where – and more importantly _when – _he was. Based on what he knew, the last ice age had ended over ten thousand years before he was born. 1970 indeed.

"Bloody Dumbledore. Why couldn't you have just been born a muggle?" Harry muttered.

Oddly enough, this small bit of griping gave Harry a sense of amusement that he just couldn't explain. Unbeknownst to him, at least to his conscious mind, the reason for this amusement made for quite an interesting story. Demonstrating that the Universe did indeed have a sense of irony, the troll that Harry encountered had been making its way towards a group of primitive hunter-gatherers, one of whom was a very early, very distant ancestor of Albus Dumbledore. This ancestor was actually the very first of his line to show any signs of magic. Had the troll not encountered Harry, it would have attacked the group, leaving no survivors. The loss of this particular ancestor would have caused Albus Dumbledore to become quite different from the man Harry knew.

Instead of a wizard who became one of the most powerful men ever to live, Albus Dumbledore would have been born a muggle. He would have grown up to run a very successful pizza parlor in downtown London, called Al's Place, where he would serve his specialty: Lemon-Seasoned Pizza. Al's Place would later close when its owner died in a car accident in 1945, along with a strange man in a black cloak who stepped in front of his pizza delivery truck.

But that was another story entirely.

Harry sighed in frustration as he surveyed the surrounding area – an area that should have contained Hogwarts Castle. He was in the right place, he knew. Apparition coordinates didn't lie, even in the distant past. And he was sure now that he was in the past, rather than the future. If it had been the future, ice age or not, some part of Hogwarts would have survived, even if it was only a fragment of the wards.

So, while he was where he needed to be, he was several thousand years early for his 1970 appointment.

Harry sighed again, this time more out of resignation. The fact that he wasn't in the right time was somewhat less than surprising, though he had hoped that, just this once, things might have gone according to plan.

There was nothing for it. If he wasn't in the right time, then he wasn't in the right place…or something like that.

"So, Hedwig," he asked as she gently alighted on his shoulder. "Up for round two?"

* * *

He was starting to get the hang of this.

After a grand total of seventeen trips to various times, Harry Potter could honestly say that he was an expert on the subject of time travel. At least, on the completely random, cut-you-loose-and-hope-for-the-best method. Why, after that last trip he had almost managed to land on his feet! He would have done it, too, if there had actually been solid ground beneath him, rather than the surface of a lake.

It had been a little over two weeks since he had begun his journey towards 1970, and in that time he had been thrown as far as about two hundred million years into the past. How did he know this? Well, it really wasn't too difficult to figure out when you knew what to look for. Some of the signs were hard to spot, but someone with a keen eye could find them with little difficulty.

Okay, so his first clue had been the dinosaurs.

At the other extreme, some of his jumps had taken him well past his own time. The most memorable of which had probably been when he found himself somewhere around five million years into the future. Whatever those goat-things were, he was glad to get away from them. He still had a headache from that damned "handshake"…

After that, he generally avoided the natives whenever he could.

But that was all over with now. For once, he didn't mind the fact that his landing was less than spectacular, or that he was fairly well exhausted after his second jump that day. He didn't mind that his owl had given him a very dirty look before flying as fast as she could in the opposite direction. He didn't mind that he was in the middle of a lake, watching as his trunk valiantly struggled to make it to shore without sinking. He didn't even mind that his thoroughly saturated robes were threatening to drag him beneath the surface, aided by the fact that he was admittedly not the best of swimmers. No, none of this bothered him as much as it would have any other day.

He was where he needed to be. And it was when he needed to be there.

Just a few hundred yards away stood the massive oak doors of Hogwarts. To the east he could see the Forbidden forest, looking somehow less intimidating than he remembered it. Looking west he saw the Quidditch pitch, its golden hoops glittering in the summer sun. To judge by the blooming begonias visible by the greenhouses, Harry figured it was probably mid-July or early August, but that wasn't important at the moment. The thing that really caught his attention was located midway between the castle and the forest.

It was a tree.

A willow, to be precise. It was around twenty feet high, and its branches were swaying in the light breeze. Despite its unassuming appearance, Harry knew it to be quite dangerous, but that didn't matter to him now. What mattered was that the earth surrounding it was still freshly turned.

The Whomping Willow had just been planted.

A small smile spread across his dampened face, and an instant later he was standing on the north shore of the lake, his clothes showing no sign of having ever been wet. For a moment, he simply stared at the tree, hardly daring to believe that he had finally made it. Behind him, his trunk crawled out onto the shore and vigorously shook itself.

With a slight spring in his step, Harry started up the path toward the castle. It was a path he knew well, although, chronologically speaking, this was the first time he was walking it. To him, it hadn't even been a month since he had last sat by that same lake, far from the prying eyes of the world, and just thought about…well, everything. He found that watching the water often helped calm his thoughts. The lake was chaotic, yet followed a pattern that could almost be seen if one looked closely enough. Order in disorder. It was a concept Harry found strangely appealing.

He paused in front of the doors and placed the palm of his right hand flat against the wood. A silvery liquid spread from the point of contact, flowing outward until it covered the whole door. It rippled slightly before solidifying into the flat surface of a mirror. Lowering his hand, he considered his disheveled and unkempt appearance. It wouldn't do to be seen like this. Aside from the fact that he still looked like Harry Potter, if he met with Dumbledore looking as though he had just escaped from Azkaban, he could forget about getting the job.

He blinked, and suddenly someone else was looking back at him from the mirror. This someone looked around twenty years old, and had a head of thick brown hair. His eyes were a deep, royal blue; darker than could possibly be natural, but alive in such a way that they couldn't be anything but. His face was refined, and he bore the look of a man who had seen the very worst the world had to offer, and no longer had anything to fear.

This was the form he normally took whenever he went out in public. He found the intimidating qualities quite useful.

He was about to leave it at that when he was struck by a sudden inspiration. This was a chance for him to choose who he would be for the next ten years. Right now, in this moment, he could change everything and anything about himself. He could change his looks, he could change his age, he could change his personality…he could quite literally become anyone he wanted to be.

He blinked again, and this time a thirty-something man with coppery auburn hair and hazel eyes stared back at him. His face was slightly rounded, and a carefree smile gave him the appearance of a man who enjoyed his life to the fullest.

With a shake of his head, he discarded that look. It was far too cheerful.

He blinked a third time, and his reflection changed to that of a man in his mid-twenties. He had long blonde hair that was pulled back into a ponytail, and light yellow eyes like those of a cat. His stance spoke of a feline grace, and his eyes sparkled with the knowledge that, while he was calm and peaceful most of the time, he could be very dangerous if provoked.

He strongly considered keeping himself like that, but then common sense kicked in. He had to appear the same now as he had that day in Diagon Alley. If not, then Dumbledore wouldn't recognize him as Evan Esare, Ollivander wouldn't connect him to Harry Potter, he would never find out that he had been a professor ten years before he was born, and the paradoxical nature of time travel would come back to bite him in the arse.

With a sigh, he blinked one last time. His features returned to the brown-haired, blue-eyed individual he would need to be seen as. He had originally taken this form to go unnoticed. Now, he took it so he could be recognized. The irony was not lost on him.

With a few quick switching spells, Harry was clad in a set of lightweight black robes. They were nothing fancy, and would undoubtedly pale in comparison to one of Dumbledore's getups, but they were comfortable and didn't restrict his movement, and that was what mattered to him most.

Satisfied with his work, Harry raised his hand again and gave the mirror a tap with his index finger. For a moment, the silvery substance resembled a waterfall as it cascaded down the ancient oak door. It hit the ground and simply evaporated.

He stood there in silence for a few moments, mentally reviewing the plan he had come up with a few days before his departure. He already knew that Dumbledore would end up hiring him, but he also knew things would go a lot more smoothly if he approached it the right way. First and foremost, Dumbledore cared about the students entrusted to him. Therefore, Harry's best bet was to convince the man that hiring him was in their best interests.

Satisfied that he remembered all the details, he grasped the handles and pulled. The front doors opened easily and Harry strode inside, confident but not cocky. He wondered briefly whether or not Dumbledore would be there. While he knew that the Dumbledore of 1998 stayed at Hogwarts year-round, the Dumbledore of 1970 had only just been appointed headmaster, and Harry doubted most heads stayed at their schools while everyone else was on holiday.

He needn't have worried, however. No more than half a minute later he passed the open doors to the Great Hall, and what he saw very nearly caused him to make a remark likely to end his career as a professor before it had even begun.

Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and all around the most famous wizard of the age, was juggling.

With bowling pins.

He had no less than six of them in the air at the moment, and was keeping them that way with apparent ease. He seemed to be having the time of his life, to judge by the broad grin on his face. It was a side of Dumbledore Harry had never seen before (though it did explain where he got his reflexes), and he was saddened by the knowledge of what would happen to this world in just a few short years.

"Hello there," Harry said, the sight of the juggling headmaster inexplicably reminding him of a chef tossing a pizza in the air. He quickly shook off the thought as the man in question whirled around, his wand appearing in his hand almost instantly. The effect was somewhat lessened when one of the bowling pins came down on the man's head, knocking off his hat. Dumbledore didn't seem to notice.

"Hello," the headmaster said with an almost imperceptible edge to his voice. Harry got the impression that no one had been able to sneak up on him in quite some time, and it was only his years of experience that kept him from resorting to more colorful language. "My name is Albus Dumbledore. If I may I ask, who are you and what are you doing in my school?"

The question was asked politely, although a buildup of magic could easily be felt coming from the (not quite so) old man – a reminder that he was not to be taken lightly. Harry supposed most people would have been intimidated by the action. Personally he found it rather amusing.

"Hello, Albus Dumbledore," said Harry, completely un-phased by the headmaster's obvious distrust. "You may indeed ask, and in this case I shall answer. My name is Evan Esare, and I'm here to offer my skills to your students."

* * *

A/N: There we go, chapter three is up and ready for your enjoyment. I think it came out pretty good, and I hope you all agree. As I said up top, I posted the revised version of chapter two last week, so you might want to check it out if you haven't already.

I may decide to write a few one-shots detailing Harry's experiences in a few of the different times he visited. I doubt I'd do more than two or three, but there are a couple of ideas I think I could have some fun with. What do you think?

A big Thanks to **Lil Miss Potter**, **Silverscale**, **Eltrut**, **diddlysquatness**,** Lady Phoenix Slytherin**, and** antares520** for reviewing the last chapter.

-D.S.


	5. Chapter Four: Déjà vu

A Matter of Time

by Dementis Scriptor

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Dealing with loss is never easy, especially when half the world sees you as a savior, half as a Dark Lord in the making, and half as the man who took away their chance at world domination. Yes, that made three halves. Go figure.

Disclaimer: Alas, I do not own Harry Potter, and so I place sarcastic disclaimers such as this one before each and every one of my chaptersin the hope that, should JKR and/or her lawyers ever read this, they will decide not to sue me.

* * *

Chapter Four: **Déjà vu**

_"It's déjà vu all over again." – Yogi Berra_

It all seemed so familiar.

Small silver instruments whirred and sputtered on a table, some emitting puffs of smoke or flashes of light at irregular intervals. Hundreds of books, some of which couldn't be found anywhere else in the world, sat neatly on carved wooden shelves. A glittering perch stood to one side, occupied by a flaming crimson bird the size of a swan. And behind a claw-footed desk, polished to a point that could only be attained by an overzealous house-elf, sat an old man with piercing blue eyes, a crooked nose, and snow white hair long enough to join his equally white beard as it was tucked into his belt.

It all seemed so familiar…

But it wasn't.

"Look, Mr. Esare-"

"Please," Harry interrupted. "Call me Evan." Dumbledore closed his eyes just long enough to collect himself while still being short enough to appear as a prolonged blink.

"Very well…Evan," said Dumbledore, admirably concealing most of the annoyance Harry knew he must be feeling. "As I was saying, I really don't think-"

"Are you hungry?" Harry broke in smoothly, "Because I could really go for some scones about now."

"Scones…?" asked Dumbledore blankly.

"Scones," said Harry. "Definitely scones. And perhaps some tea…"

Dumbledore blinked. He was opening his mouth to respond, an expression of forced calm on his face, when -

Pop!

"Are sirs in need of something?" inquired an oddly high-pitched voice. It was, of course, a house-elf. The headmaster let out a resigned sigh.

"Ah! Yes, I could go for some scones, if it isn't too much trouble," said Harry. The house-elf looked delighted. Dumbledore looked like someone had just eaten his last lemon drop.

"Oh, no sir. 'Tis no trouble for Allie. Is there anything else?" the house-elf, Allie, asked.

"Hmm…how about some tea? Earl Grey, if you have it," Harry replied, fully aware that Dumbledore was becoming impatient, despite his attempts to hide it.

"Right away, sir," said Allie, disappearing with another Pop!

"Wonderful creatures, house-elves," said Harry. "It's a shame so many people take them for granted. They may be bound to serve, but that's no reason to treat them like dirt…" he trailed off.

Dumbledore just stared at him with a blank expression, as though he was not sure what to make of him. Harry figured it probably wasn't that far from the truth. He was willing to bet that it had been a very long time since anyone had treated Dumbledore as anything other than a hero of almost mythic proportions.

"Indeed," said Dumbledore slowly. "I wonder, though, why –"

Whatever Dumbledore was going to say was lost as Allie popped back into the office, carrying a silver tray that looked far too large for her. She managed without incident, however, placing the tray on the desk with practiced ease. It looked to Harry as though she had brought half the bakery: the requested scones were there, of course, along with a dozen or so assorted muffins, a selection of biscuits, half a dozen croissants, and a wide variety of pastries. A matching silver tea set was set down beside it, steam rising steadily from the spout. To Harry, who had been living almost entirely off of transfigured foliage and conjured foodstuffs, this was quite possibly the most wonderful thing he had ever laid eyes on.

"Here you are, Sir," said Allie. "Will that be all?"

"Yes, Allie," said Harry, smiling kindly at the little elf. "Thank you very much." Allie blushed, but grinned wider than Harry would have thought possible.

"If you need anything else, Sir – anything at all – you've only to ask," the elf said, seemingly in a state of euphoria.

"I appreciate it, Allie," said Harry. Allie beamed once more before departing the office in her customary manner.

Harry had unabashedly taken a scone from the tray, buttered it, eaten it, and was starting on a second by the time Dumbledore's mind caught on to the fact that Harry had, in under a minute, established a stronger relationship with the house-elves than most people had after years of living in the castle.

"Please, feel free to join me," said Harry, motioning towards the tray with a croissant he had just started on. "I daresay that Allie will be most disappointed if there is anything left over, and I certainly can't eat all of this…"

It really wasn't fair on Dumbledore, Harry reflected, watching the old man try to make sense out of his behavior. Most people had very little actual contact with the man, and so never learned his mannerisms well enough to read him. But he, Harry, knew Albus Dumbledore almost as well as Albus Dumbledore knew him. The only problem was that, at current, Albus Dumbledore did not know him, and would not for another thirty or so years. That gave Harry the advantage of being able to read the headmaster's reactions with an ease that only came from years of experience – years of experience that the headmaster did not yet have concerning him. It wasn't fair on Dumbledore…but it was bloody amusing to Harry.

Rather than attempt conversation, Dumbledore opted to silently observe him. He didn't do it outright, of course, instead carefully choosing a pastry from the tray and making a show of thoroughly enjoying it. Only someone who knew what to look for would have noticed how little the headmaster blinked, or how he kept his eyes focused in such a way as to keep Harry in his peripheral vision at all times. To most, the headmaster would have appeared to be unerringly polite, but Harry recognized the act for what it was: an attempt to gain some insight into his character, and perhaps catch him in an unguarded moment. He had seen the headmaster use similar tactics when dealing with everyone from Cornelius Fudge to Lucius Malfoy, and while he was a bit disgruntled to find himself included in that group, Harry thought it rather flattering that Dumbledore considered him worthy of such surveillance.

The day had been going rather well, all things considered. After the usual pleasantries had been exchanged in the Great Hall, the headmaster suggested that they move the impending discussion up to his office. It wasn't an unreasonable request, and Harry was well aware that that change in venue could very well make things easier for him. The Headmaster's office was where Dumbledore felt he had the most control over a situation, and where many people would have been the most intimidated. Luckily for Harry, it was the same office he had spent countless hours in over the years, and he felt almost as comfortable there as Dumbledore himself did. But while he may have been happy with the surroundings, he was far less at ease with the situation.

It hadn't been an easy task convincing Dumbledore to hear him out. The man had been nice enough about it, of course, but after Harry had confessed his lack of experience as a teacher – indeed, his lack of experience doing anything, really – the headmaster seemed much less inclined to continue the discussion. Harry almost smiled at the thought of just how lax the old man's standards would become by the time he first came to Hogwarts.

The school didn't have any kind of formal tests for aspiring professors, and as such Harry's evaluation mostly consisted of a very long conversation with Dumbledore about everything from entry-level counter-curses to some of the most advanced, multifaceted shielding charms known to wizard kind. Harry suspected he had earned some points with the headmaster by not only knowing of these charms, but actually being able to perform them. Then there was the matter of his O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. scores, which he didn't have for the simple reason that he would not take those exams for some thirty years. He could have tried to forge some scores, but unless he broke into the Wizarding Examinations Authority archives, located within the Ministry building, and created a whole new file for himself, it would be ridiculously easy for Dumbledore to find out that his so-called scores were a load of dung. Regardless, Dumbledore had the authority to hire new faculty at his discretion, even if he or she didn't have the formal qualifications. Harry was quite sure that he had proven himself more than competent in the field, yet something was holding Dumbledore back. It took Harry a moment to realize that it wasn't his skills that the headmaster doubted (at least, it wasn't anymore). No, the explanation was far simpler than that: Dumbledore didn't trust him.

In retrospect, this fact should have been fairly obvious to Harry. Indeed, he had expected there to be at least some mistrust on the headmaster's part. Dumbledore wasn't a stupid man, and while the rest of the Wizarding World may have been basking in their ignorance, Dumbledore would have noticed the subtle signs pointing to a rising darkness. Harry had not, however, expected those signs to be either numerous or troubling enough at this point in time to put the headmaster on his guard concerning new faculty members. The fact that his résumé was blank and nobody had ever heard of him was something of a sticking point as well. Luckily for Harry, though, Dumbledore asked few questions about his past, seemingly far more concerned with whether or not he posed a threat in the present.

For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, Harry reminded himself that, logically, he already knew that Dumbledore would end up hiring him, since, logically, if he were not hired, he would never have come back to apply for the job in the first place, and, logically, the Universe would already be trapped in an ever repeating sequence of events from which it had no hope of ever emerging.

Logically, Harry wished he had dropped by the Three Broomsticks for a drink before rushing off to meet Dumbledore.

The headmaster was still quietly observing him, though Harry suspected that the old man knew that he was being observed right back. In the months preceding Voldemort's defeat, such tactics had become second nature for Harry: observing reactions, deducing thoughts from subtle body language…it was really amazing how much information people gave away without even realizing they were doing it.

This mutual observation continued until at last the tray was empty, and all that remained of the tea now sat in a pair of blue-patterned china cups not unlike those Harry remembered from Sibyll Trelawney's divination classes.

Speaking of divination…

"I already know what you're going to say," Harry said, having judged that the moment had come to…up the ante, so to speak.

"Oh?" said Dumbledore, acting every bit the clueless old man. Only a nearly imperceptible tensing of the muscles around his eyes gave away the fact that he knew the time for skirting the issue had passed.

"Yes indeed. Let's see… 'While I'm sure you would perform admirably, Mr. Esare, I'm afraid I can't hire someone without any formal qualifications in either education or Defense. I'll keep you in mind, however, should a suitable position become available.' Am I right?"

Harry already knew that he was. In fact, given how well he knew the man sitting across from him, he was willing to bet he got the wording nearly exact. He was proven right when Dumbledore's eyes narrowed slightly, despite the calm smile he still wore. In any event, Harry didn't wait for a reply before he spoke again.

"But it isn't my qualifications you are concerned about, is it?" Though he phrased it as a question, it was clearly anything but. Of their own volition, his eyes moved to the bare patch of wall that would one day become home to Gryffindor's sword. He remembered the events that led to his recovery of the sword. As strange as it sounded, his life had been far less complicated when he was battling for his life against a basilisk down in the Chamber of Secrets. Back then his only worry was staying alive from one moment to the next, and the rest of the world was largely uninvolved. Now, however, nothing was so simple.

"While most of the Wizarding World has been too wrapped up in their narcissism to notice much of anything, you have seen the warning signs. You've heard whispers of a coming darkness…seen the shadows gathering on the horizon. And you, Albus Dumbledore, fear that I am somehow involved."

The smile was gone from the headmaster's face when Harry looked back, replaced with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. Meeting Dumbledore's sharp gaze with one of equal intensity, Harry continued.

"Don't look so surprised. I daresay that I would have been disappointed if you weren't suspicious. I certainly wouldn't trust me if I were in your place." Harry paused to collect his thoughts, allowing Dumbledore time to do the same.

"If it makes you feel any better, I can tell you that I am not involved. At least," he added after a moment, "not yet."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, clearly inviting Harry to explain further. Harry decided to humor the old man.

"There is a new Dark Lord rising. Precious few people are aware of it, and most of those are working with him. The Ministry remains unaware, and is content to ignore any signs of anything that may disrupt their idealized view of the Wizarding World. By the time this new Dark Lord reveals himself, his advantage will be so great that nothing short of an all out war will be able to stop him…and you know as well as I do that Britain's magical community is neither willing nor able to deal with such a war."

Dumbledore remained silent, though all trace of the carefree man he had met earlier had long since vanished. When it appeared that he would not voice a reply, Harry decided to force the issue.

"You know I speak the truth."

Dumbledore remained as still as if he had been carved from marble. Then, with excruciating slowness, as though acknowledging it would somehow make it true, he nodded his head. For a long moment, neither man spoke, each rather reluctant to break the silence that had descended upon the office. At last, it was Dumbledore who made the first attempt.

"Why are you here, Evan Esare?" asked Dumbledore softly. "You obviously pay quite a bit more attention to the world than the average wizard…but what are your motives? We all have our reasons for doing what we do…what are yours?"

Harry paused, and thought about his answer. Honestly, he was there because he didn't want to bugger up the timeline. Anything else was a secondary concern. But he couldn't very well tell Dumbledore that, so he had to go with the next best thing: a true fallacy. A reason that, while being perfectly sensible and quite true, was not the real one.

"I am here because I think I have something to offer this school," he said. "No tricks, no lies, no ulterior motives. Think about it, Headmaster. Think long and hard before you make your decision. I could be a very valuable ally."

"And if I refuse your offer?" asked Dumbledore. "Do you then become a very dangerous enemy?" From anybody else, it would have sounded like an accusation. To anyone else, it would have been taken as an insult. But between the two men in the office, it was simply a question that needed to be asked…and needed to be answered.

"You know, it's been a while since anyone's had reason to doubt me," Harry said softly. "I'd almost forgotten what it was like…"

That was true enough. To Harry, it had been almost a full year since he had been accused of mental instability, gross incompetence, or being a wannabe Dark Lord. Of course, that might have had something to do with the fact that he had quit reading the _Daily Prophet_ at around that same time…

"No matter, though. You pose a valid question, though it's not one I anticipated. I had hoped we'd be above such a simplistic view of the world, where there exists only Us and Them…" he paused, realizing that he was getting off track. Albus Dumbledore was probably the last person who needed to hear such a lecture.

"Sorry, got a bit off topic. In answer to your question: If you deign my services too…venturesome for your tastes, I will leave. I will disappear, quite probably forever. It is not likely that you would ever hear of me again," Harry said, pausing to lock his eyes on Dumbledore's. His next words were a gamble, he knew, but they had to be said.

"But you know as well as I do what a new Dark Lord could do to this world. Wizards have grown complacent in the years since Grindelwald fell. The Ministry is weak; the Aurors ill prepared for battle. I can count the number of fully qualified Hit Wizards on one hand," Harry said cryptically. "Whether we like it or not, the outcome of this war will be largely in the hands of the students who will very shortly reside within these walls. You wanted to know why I was here?"

It was a rhetorical question, and Dumbledore made no attempt to answer it.

"There's your answer. If, under my tutelage, even one student learns enough to defend himself when he otherwise would not have been able to, then I would consider my time here well spent. I can't save them all…but it is my hope that maybe, just maybe, I can teach them enough to save themselves."

Throughout his tirade, Harry had not removed his eyes from Dumbledore's, and he could see how deeply Dumbledore was affected by the thought of his students in danger. He had struck a nerve, as he knew he would. It remained to be seen whether it was for good or ill.

The silence continued for so long that Harry was almost sure he had gone too far. He had the fleeting vision of a world caught in paradox, where every action led right back to itself. It would be worse than if he had altered the past, since it wasn't only the future he knew which would be in danger, but any future at all. In knowing about his trip into the past before he had made it, he must have done something that lost him the Defense Against the Dark Arts job, which, in turn, would lead to his not knowing about the trip before hand and getting the job, which would then lead to his knowing about the trip and not getting the job, which would again lead to his not knowing and getting the job, and the Universe itself would become trapped in this never-ending loop, and nobody could do anything to change it, since no one would even know it was happening, and –

"I had hoped that I was wrong," said Dumbledore quietly, abruptly pulling Harry away from his dark musings. "That I had misinterpreted…something – anything. That I was seeing things that weren't there. I almost had myself convinced that I was just becoming paranoid in my old age." Here, he sighed deeply. "It was a fool's hope. For a quarter of a century we've had peace. A long time…but not long enough."

Harry closed his eyes, suddenly having a very good idea of how the Headmaster felt, both in this time period and the one he grew up in, with the knowledge of what was to come, and the knowledge that he could do nothing to stop it.

"Not long enough," he agreed tiredly. "Never long enough…"

Dumbledore sighed again, and gave Harry a sad look. "You speak from experience," he said softly. "Experience you should not have at your age."

Harry paused for a moment, and then shook his head, though it was not in denial. Years ago, such a comment would have grated on his nerves. Years ago it would have been cause for much resentment. Years ago…but not anymore. Not since he had returned to Hogwarts to find first- and second-year students, looking as grim-faced as any Auror, moving through the halls in packs, as though afraid they might be picked off one by one should they venture off alone. Not since he had stared into the crazed eyes of a classmate whose thirst for revenge had driven him to meddle in magic that was so far beyond his ability that it ultimately shattered his mind. Not since he had seen a boy, no older than ten, stab himself through the heart after being forced to do the same to his family under _Imperious_.

Not since his best friends had been killed, not out of malice or dislike, but as a show of power.

No, if it were up to him, such experience would never be had – by anybody.

"I have known many people," said Harry, and he was surprised by just how old his voice sounded at that moment, "of many ages. You've doubtless known many more. Should anyone ever have such experience?"

Another pause, longer this time.

"Touché," said the headmaster quietly.

"I've found," said Harry after a moment of silence, "that the world seldom cares whether or not you are old enough for anything."

Again the silence descended, but this time it was more contemplative than tense. For the first time since arriving in 1970, he found himself beginning to relax. It seemed, just for a moment, as though things might work out after all.

"I'm afraid," Dumbledore said abruptly, the somber atmosphere seeming to vanish in an instant, "that I can't just give you the job." He sounded somewhat apologetic, though Harry thought he detected an almost mocking undertone.

"Oh?"

"Oh my, no. You see, there are regulations that won't permit that, given your lack of experience."

Harry blinked. He began to open his mouth, but didn't get the chance.

"However, there is precedent for allowing you to teach on a probationary basis. You would be subject to monthly performance reviews by either myself or my Deputy – though I daresay that if you can teach half as well as you can argue a point, that shouldn't be a problem," said Dumbledore, a bit of a twinkle reappearing in his eyes.

Harry found himself comforted – and slightly taken aback – by the familiar mannerisms of the man who was now quite obviously the same Dumbledore he knew. He was overcome by this sudden sense of familiarity, and couldn't resist quipping back.

"Well, Headmaster, I daresay that if you can evaluate me in a classroom half as thoroughly as you can in your office, that shouldn't be a problem."

Dumbledore looked so surprised at this that he nearly fell out of his chair. A moment later he let out a loud chuckle, the familiar twinkling of his eyes returning full force.

"Was I that obvious?" he asked through his laughter.

"Nah," said Harry, the ghost of a smile playing across his face, "I'm just that good."

The headmaster laughed even louder at this, and Harry, as he had many times before, began to wonder about the old man's mental health. It hadn't been _that_ funny…

"Mr. Esare," the headmaster said, smiling in a manner that was frankly unnerving, "Welcome to Hogwarts."

* * *

A/N: Yes, it's me again, back from the dead and posting a new chapter before the release of _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_. I have a nasty feeling that my plot will be obsolete come Saturday, and I wanted to get at least one more chapter out before then. As I've said in my profile, the fate of my current stories has yet to be decided. It all depends on how the new book plays out. I may continue to write them even if HBP tears my ideas to shreds, or I may be inspired to start something completely new after reading JKR's latest masterpiece. At this point, I honestly don't know. We'll just have to wait and see. 

I'd like to thank **Silverscale**, **Mars-Alfgonzo**, **antares520**, **RC**, **Larna Mandrea**, **Mirabelle P**, **Boo Bear the Small**, **Kara Adar**, and **kirallie **for reviewing the last chapter.

-D.S.


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